Falling(13)

Adjusting his uniform, he closed one eye and looked out the door’s peephole to make sure Jo was blocking. There she stood, cross-armed, facing the cabin, her feet firmly planted. If anyone was going to rush the cockpit while the pilots were coming in and out for their bathroom break, they were going to have to make it through her first. All five feet and forty-six years of her. Most flight attendants executed the post–September 11th security procedure with a slight eye roll. If a terrorist really wanted to bust through the open door, one little flight attendant wasn’t going to stop him. But Jo took it seriously. Years ago, the first officer they were flying with jokingly called her his “one-hundred-pound terrorist speed bump.” He found out the long-winded way what a mistake that was. Jo understood that in placing herself in front of that door, she was declaring: over my dead body.

And Bill knew she meant it.

After the door closed behind her she turned on her heels, dropping her smile the instant she saw Bill’s face. When he didn’t speak, she did.

“Well?”

“What?” he replied.

Pursing her lips, she crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one side.

“What?” he repeated, scanning the cabin over her shoulder, his brows pinched.

If you tell anyone, your family dies. If you send anyone to the house, your family dies.

He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t tell Jo.

But he had to get someone to his family, he had to get someone to the house. He couldn’t orchestrate that from the cockpit, where he was being monitored every second. And there was an unknown threat back here in the cabin with Jo and the crew. How could he not warn them? And the gas. The cabin needed to be ready for an attack if it came to that.

Bill knew he wouldn’t crash the plane—but he might need to pretend he would. Throwing the canister was a part of that. If he refused to throw the gas, Sam would assume his choice was to save the plane. His family would die.

A hollow dread seeped out of his heart, filling his body. Unless someone on the ground could get to his family, he was going to have to gas the cabin. Which meant the crew needed to be ready. They needed to protect the passengers… from him.

“Bill?” Jo’s voice sounded a mile away.

If you tell anyone, your family dies.

Bill looked at the rest of the plane, at the one hundred and forty-four strangers sitting in the passenger seats. One hundred and forty-four potential threats. Rage coursed through his body, intertwining with fear. What else didn’t he know?

Jo’s eyes, full of concern, refused to look away. “Bill?” she said with a little more force.

If you tell anyone, your family dies.

How could he go back up to the cockpit and leave his crew exposed and vulnerable?

Jo placed a gentle hand on his forearm and squeezed. Her warm touch sucked out his breath like an electric shock.

He needed help. His family needed help. He couldn’t do this alone.

“Jo,” he whispered. “We have a situation.”





CHAPTER FOUR


JO STEADIED HERSELF WITH A hand on the galley counter.

Bill had tried to make this look like a typical conversation during a typical bathroom break, casually walking her into the galley. Once out of eyesight, he’d cleared his throat and told her everything.

Jo stared up at him, mouth agape. The slow shake of her head wasn’t a denial. It was a realization that from here on out, nothing would ever be the same.

“Repeat everything you just said.”

“No,” Bill said. “We don’t have time. Look. My cockpit, my communications—it’s all being monitored on the FaceTime call. I’m wearing headphones so Ben can’t hear, but when…”

The captain’s voice trailed off, each word getting softer and farther away. Jo gazed into the cup of coffee she’d poured for the elderly woman in 2C that sat on the galley countertop cooling. Coffee she had poured in what now felt like a different lifetime. Her life before Bill told her of their situation.

Steam billowed in balletic swirls and twirls as little bubbles rose to the coffee’s dark surface, reflecting the fluorescent purple glow of the overhead light. She observed all this abstractly; the graceful steam, the singsong lilt of a far-off voice, the flowing movement of light and shadow. A gossamer, dreamlike state was the lens through which she viewed reality and, while Jo was not a sleepwalker, she distantly wondered if this is what it felt like.

“I had to take the risk,” Bill said. “He said he’d kill them if I told anyone. But you and the crew have to…”

Bill’s voice was talking about something or other. A family? What family? Hers? No, Michael and the boys were home. Safe. She looked at the tiny bubbles and envisioned herself inside one. Unnoticed by her crewmates, by the other passengers, she would slip into it quietly, the bubble cocooning her in its completeness. Nothing would come in, nothing would leave. She’d sit down, hug her knees to her chest, and just observe everyone else carrying on without her. She could feel the silence of the bubble, the weightlessness of her body as she bobbed on the surface of the coffee. Maybe she could be poured down the drain, tiny and hidden, sliding away on her secret escape. She would be along for the ride, unable to steer and not wanting to. The corners of her lips tugged into an inappropriate smile. She couldn’t help herself. There was just so much relief in being so small.